The Rest of My World
by Author Kirkland
Summary: Arthur Kirkland has always known he was different from everyone else at his normal job at Madison Press. However, he doesn't know that there are others just like him, other people known as very countries themselves. What will he do when he finds himself being dragged into a path of chaos by an overly happy America(n)?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note** : _Hey guys! Wow, I've never imagined I'd be encouraged by my friends to actually start writing online. Before this, it was just a few freestyle rough drafts on paper. I got inspired to write this when I started thinking about a work that I'd basically given up on. Since my only friends are rabid Hetalia fans, I thought, 'Eh, what the hell." Sooooooo…..this story was born. Now I'm a new user of Fanfiction, so if the first few chapters' format ends up looking like horsecrap, I'm going to apologize in advance. Enjoy the story! (Hopefully, haha :D) USUK FOR THE WIN, YASS!_

* * *

 **~ The Rest of My World: Chapter 1 ~**

Arthur always knew he was different from everyone else at his office. Hell, he'd go as far as saying that he was different from everyone in the whole entire city of _London._ There were things he couldn't explain, like how he knew the Kent earthquake last week was going to be around a four point something on the Richter scale. He could predict when bad or good events were going to happen, and this made others wary of his very being. He often heard rumored whispers of, "witch," and ," freak," as he made his way into his office room.

And that wasn't the least of his worries. Arthur also knew for a fact that he almost didn't age at all, and that in the twenty years he'd worked at Madison Press he still looked around thirty years old, the culmination of his youth while others aged all around him. There were even times where he could glimpse his own mother gazing fearfully at him, and he knew why although he repeated denied his own dark thoughts.

"We're here," a rough voice rumbled. Arthur stared mutely at the man in the seat in front of him, still lost in thoughts.

"Oi, we're _here_!" the cabbie snapped, jolting Arthur awake.

 _Oh, hell, Madison Press!_

Even as he the unwelcomed thought passed through his mind, there was a slight sucking feeling before Arthur was rudely thrown onto marble-tiled floor inside the said building. His stomach sank as his several of his co-workers gaped, stammered, and then turned their heads. Arthur hung his head and tried to ignore the feeling of shame knotting his gut.

 _The cabbie!_

Arthur raced outside, only to be greeted by the exhaust of the receding car, its driver cursing loudly for being robbed of his rightful money. Sighing, Arthur decided to take a photo of the cab's phone number imprinted on the side to send the money to him later. Perhaps, after work. Arthur ran a shaking hand through his hair and proceeded to drag himself back to his office.

His brain switched to autopilot as he greeted his colleagues and all too soon, he was at the door of his little cramped office that had a plaque near the peephole with his name engraved into the slightly rusted metal.

 _ **-Arthur Kirkland-**_

He pushed the dark oak wood door inward and was met by his little desk, crammed full of papers and a laptop sitting next to scattered stacks of discarded rough drafts. His printer was whirring softly on the ground next to an old pine desk. Arthur collapsed into his chair and let out a long sigh. He hated the little bursts of warping in between places that happened almost the moment he concentrated of a destination.

He knew it wasn't normal, and had gone to doctors to ask if he had some kind of rare disease or _something_. They were no help; the most they would do is to suggest appointments with a therapist.

"Maybe your mind was so overwhelmed you were hallucinating," they would tell him. "Let me write down a prescription of..."

And Arthur would spend the next few days resting and eagerly awaiting his fantasized results. But they would never come true, and as the years passed Arthur eventually gave up hope trying.

It was the teleporting that also made others point and whisper and it terrified him. When he had first come to realize this weird ability, he'd been having a stressful day at the office trying to type up an interesting article for some sports team's victory. He could recall that moment clear as day. Arthur had closed his sore eyes, letting out a long sigh and tried to imagine himself away from the noise of clacking keys and the Boss shouting orders to his newspaper boys.

 _Uhmph…I sure wouldn't mind a vacation in Venice right now….and just relax on the waves….._

There had been a short period of pure bliss as images of sparkling, cobalt canals and beautiful rows of antique buildings flitted across his eyelids.

Then the noise of the office had vanished, replaced by joyous greetings that he could not understand and the delicious scent of tomato sauce. Arthur's eyes snapped open. He was reclining in a narrow gondola with a brown-haired gondolier smiling and talking animatedly to him as if nothing had happened.

"W-where the bloody hell am I?" Arthur spluttered, scrambling back.

 _No, no, no, no! I need to go back, I need to go back, I need to go back, I need to go back…._

The Italian man stopped rowing for a minute to smile at Arthur, his honey golden eyes warm and inviting.

"Qualcosa non va , signore?" he asked. "Vee~...?"

Arthur shook his head quickly, apologizing about his bother.

 _I need to go back to Madison Press, London!_

There was the sucking feeling again, and Arthur had been back in his room, breathing hard and shaking.

 _Ring! Ring!_

For the second time that day, Arthur was yanked from the depth of his memories, this time by the sound of his phone buzzing and its familiar ringtone. Slightly annoyed, his eyes flicked over to the caller ID and the Brit frowned when he was not able to recognize the number glowing on the screen.

 _Probably a prank call,_ he reasoned, looking away and turning on his laptop, deciding to check for any new emails before he started working. The laptop chimed a series of notes, signalling a surplus of new messages in his mailbox. He moved his cursor towards the little envelope icon.

 _Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Arthur jumped a bit in his seat. He had not expected the prank caller to try again. He sighed, deciding to set aside the idea of checking his inbox and reaching for his phone to try to scold the little git who was disrupting his work. He swiped the screen and raised the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he said flatly, not expecting much of an appropriate answer. He noticed a rustling of cloth in the background and some muffled speech. Then there was a _clack!_ and a, "Jesus Christ, Francis!" before the person who had called breathed a long sigh of relief.

"Hello?" the person asked. "Is this Arthur? Arthur Kirkland?"

More muffled exclamations.

Arthur inhaled sharply and tried to speak past the obstruction that had suddenly appeared in his throat. He managed a small croak and almost choked when the other person shouted his name again, this time slightly more annoyed.

"How...how do you know my name?" Arthur whispered, his eyes wide and darting around his office as if someone would just pop up in front of the window and begin shooting.

"Eh, don't get too hung up on the details, dude! Me and my guys want you to c'mere to the good old U. S. Of A.! C'mon! Whadya say? You up for it?"

For a while, there was only the sound of Arthur's strangled breathing.

 _He sounds...American,_ Arthur thought, _and he's dead serious about this._

The Brit swallowed hard. "No, thank you," he murmured, his fingers fumbling for the "End Call" button.

 _Beep._

Arthur sank down into his seat, cold sweat beginning to run down his brow and cheeks. He glanced down at his violently quaking hands and wondered subconsciously if they would ever stop. Once again, his phone rang, its ringtone now deafening to Arthur. The once cheerful jingle of notes was now an ominous reminder of his potential stalkers.

 _What if they come here? They can obviously track my location and my social life if they know my phone number, and if the little bugger's_ American _, then God knows how many guns he must own..._

It was only when his phone had stopped buzzing did he dare look down, and for the first time in his lifetime, Arthur Kirkland was glad he had caller ID.

* * *

 **Bloopers:**

 **England:** Oh, wonderful, Author. First chapter in and I'm already a complete nit.

 **Me:** _*glares*_

 **France:** Oh, honestly, Angleterre. I thought your acting was brilliant.

 **England:** That's rich coming from you, cheesy monkey!

 **France:** Black sheep of Europe!

 **England:** Why you little twat-!

 _*fighting and shouting*_

 **America:** _*walking into the studio with a burger*_ Whaf goin' on? _*loud chewing*_

 **Me:** _*sighs*_ The usual, Mr. America.

 **America:** _*shrugging and taking a huge bite*_ You c'n call me when they're done fighting.

 **Me:** _*sweatdrop as America leaves the room proclaiming his need for a Coke*_

 **Italy:** _*finally speaking up*_ Hey, Author! Will we get to eat pasta? Pasta~a~a...

 **Me:** Uh...yeah. Sure. Okay. Well guys, expect another chapter soon! If anything-

 **France:** Author, give me a hand-!

 **Me:** _*AHEM*_ IF ANYTHING HAPPENS. I'll at least post up some Behind the Scenes to let my fellow-

 **England:** Don't help him!

 **Me:** MY FELLOW READERS KNOW THAT THE NEXT CHAPTER IS A WORK IN PROGRESS!

 _*distant yelling*_

 **Me:** _*groans and goes off to break it up*_

 **America:** _*having just reentered the room*_...I'm turning this off now.


	2. Chapter 1: BTS

**Author's Note:** _Ah, my loyal readers, I feel as though I must apologize for the lack of updates. I hate cliffhangers too, ya know! But rest assured, Chapter Two is well under way. I've already laid out the plot and planned where to end off the section._

 _I feel like the reason I've failed to update is so overused it's ridiculous but, like many other fellow writers, I have been pretty sick. And let's just say the flu was absolutely_ awful. _Not only that, I was still required to attend classes because my temperature would always be okay in the morning but after four hours of class, it would skyrocket on the car ride back home and I'd be conked out all afternoon. I'd have to set alarm clocks to wake me at the dead of night to take my temperature, force down Tylenol, and attempt to finish homework. And, just like a total bitch, my fever would come down when I wake up. Thank you_ so much _, body!_

 _At the time, another one of my Skype friends was also sick with the flu, and since we had a bit of a role playing act going on, she suggested a short oneshot of a sick-fic. I've seen plenty of these, oh-ho, be-_ lieve me. _So. This is going to be sort of like a compensation for my lack of updates, I guess. As always, please read and review! Also, I do not own Hetalia in any way; this is all completely fan made._

 _VERY IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE_ _: As stated above, I'm in a role playing group. My friend was going as France and I picked China as my character. This entire section may not make sense if this is not made clear! (P.S. This is also a France x China request from a friend!)_

 **Behind the Scenes: Chapter 2**

 **China:** *having just arrived*…..what's our schedule today, aru?

 **Me:** *not looking up from my stack of scripts* Hm, well, we have to set you up for a bit of a POV shift in the plot, so you'd better- *looks up* -Oh, wow, China, you look _awful_.

 **China:** Thanks, aru. I can still help a bit. *coughs*

 **America:** *yelling from across the room* GIVE HIM A BURGER, DUDE, THOSE ALWAYS WORK!

 **Me:** *yelling back* NO, THEY DON'T!

 **England:** Those bloody gits….They're almost worse than France. And speaking of that cheesy monkey, has anyone seen him at all?

 **Me:** Um, I don't think I've seen Mr. France at all this morning. Maybe he's having a slow morning? Slept in, perhaps?

 **England:** *growls in annoyance* I swear if that wanker holds up our production of Chapter Two, his face will have a permanent hand mark of yours truly!

 **China:** I hope he is not getting ill. He _was_ hanging around my place last night, drunk. Speaking of, Italy-aru hasn't shown up either-

 **Italy:** YOU _GUYSSSSS!_ *runs into room, panting*

*China winces from his volume*

 **England:** Oh, bloody hell, Italy. Yes? What is the matter with you?

 **Italy:** *curl frazzled and bouncing* Big brother Francey Pants is sick! What are we gonna DOOOO? We're already behind on production!

 **Me:** *groans and puts face in hands* Ah, don't even worry about it anymore, Mr. Italy. Mr. China is also sick, so I think this chapter will have to be postponed for a short period of time. We should let those two recuperate for a while.

 **Italy:** Veh~h~….I sense a pairing! *curl twangs*

 **Me:** *realizes what Italy is saying* Oh, God. _Oh, God_. Mr. Italy, please-

 **America:** *races over* YES! DAY OFF! *yanks England by the collar* C'mon, Iggy, we're going out for lunch! *trademark laughter*

 **England:** Wh-!.. You little-.. *choking on too-tight collar* Ack! Unhand me you-!

 **Me:** Uh, well. *clears throat uncomfortably* Everyone is dismissed for… *grabs China to feel for a fever* ….Oh, damn. Uh, dismissed for a week and a half!

*everyone begins to leave*

 **Me:** Hey, China, I can walk you back to your room.

 **China:** *nods tiredly* You should also check on France-aru. See if he's….*hets-tchoo!*

 **Me:** Bless you. Here, c'mon and lean on me.

*begins the walk down to China's room*

 **Me:** Mr. China. Do you mind if I just walk you down to France's room? I'll be busy all day with Boss, and everyone else left already… You guys can rest and I'll probably swing by a little later to check on you guys and buy you two some soup and bring some water and medicine.

 **China:** *groans* Thanks, aru… I just want to sleep. *coughs*

 **Me:** Sure. *puts most of China's weight on shoulder*

*about ten minutes later…*

 **China:** Thanks. Feel free to go attend your business, Author-aru.

 **Me:** Eh, no problem. *opens France's door* And if you need anything while I'm away, feel free to give me a call.

*door shuts*

China leaned against the wall and gave a shaky sigh as he slowly slid down onto France's carpeted floor. Wearily, the old country pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his aching head against his legs. He closed his eyes, wishing for a brief moment that he could be back in home and in his own covers again and enjoy a cup of tea…

"My, isn't this a pleasant surprise."

China looked up from his spot on the floor and his chocolate brown eyes widened when he recognized the man standing in front of him.

"F-France-aru!" China stammered, struggling to push himself up from the ground. He gasped when the Frenchman in from of him steadied his trembling form with a warm hand.

"They told me you were ill, aru," China mumbled, his cheeks flushing at being seen at such a pathetic level. "And I wanted to apologize."

France snorted and gently draped China over his shoulder.

"Is nothing too 'orrible," he reassured China. "Just a 'angover, as you would say. And you're almost there. Stay with me s'il vous plait, mon ami."

China nearly gave a cry of relief when he felt his body being dumped into a soft mattress. It didn't really matter to him that the sheets gave off an strong scent of rose petals and red wine; he just wanted to bury his head into that amazingly inviting pillow and _sleep._ China moaned in annoyance as France's finger peeled back a sore eyelid, successfully waking him up.

"Boire," France murmured, bringing a cup of water to China's lips. The Asian country instantly turned beet red, snatched the cup from France's hands, and took a few tentative sips, all the while mumbling things about how he was four thousand years old and didn't need to be taken care of like a baby, damn it.

"And additionally," China said, setting his cup back down, "I do not understand French, aru!"

France shrugged and collapsed onto his bed, his head narrowly avoiding China's legs underneath the light blue blankets. He let out a long, contented sigh as he closed his eyes and dragged his hand across his face. Behind him, China sneezed, groaned, and turned on his side, his body curling into a fetal position to gain warmth that wasn't there.

France smiled as his mind began to drift back to the time he had come across China while in the Gourmet Food Club. He almost laughed when he suddenly recalled how Italy had begged and offered him an entire crate of freshly made tomato sauce and spaghetti noodles as a bribe.

 _'Ah, 'e is so cute, yet so naïve,'_ France recalled wistfully. _'And yet 'e still goes on and gives me the very thing that made us exclude him. He should know that I've never been much for his tomatoes in the first place.'_

The Frenchman dug the heel of his hand into his eyes and grinned when China stirred and rolled over on his side, curling up into a fetal position.

 _'The Gourmet Food Club,'_ France suddenly remembered, _'was actually the first time I could work side by side with China. Turkey, well, was too busy with Greece to actually make much.'_

China would always be there in the wee hours of the mornings when the Club would meet, already cooking in earnest. Sometimes there would be steamed buns, or maybe noodle soup, or on special occasions the Asian country would whip up a fresh batch of moon cakes for the festivals.

On those days, the kitchen would smell of Asian spices, sauces, and dishes, and although China never ate much himself, he would willingly cook tons for the entire Academy. Then America would probably ask China if he'd made any fries or something.

 _"Ai-yah!"_ the Chinaman would exclaim in annoyance. France had to stifle a snort.

"Sleep, mon amour," France whispered as he closed his eyes. There was a soft sneeze from somewhere behind him. "Because we need to get up Chapter Two by next week, or else Author might kill us."

 **Me:** *holding a cloth to heavy nosebleed*…..w-worth it…. ^/^ *faint*


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Okay. So apparently three pages on Microsoft Word is only hella short on Fanfiction, so I'm aiming to extend this a few more pages. (Translation: I went to read some fanfictions that people who reviewed wrote and felt super self-conscious because my story escalated too quickly. Lol. ) So I'm changing some stuff now. Enjoy Chapter 2 of USUK! And (this counts for Chapter 1 too, because I totally forgot to write it in) I don't own any part of Hetalia. This is completely fan made, and I do not own these awesome characters in any way. Reviews are highly appreciated, my friends! And feel free to try to guess what happens next!

* * *

"What's with the long face, Arthur?"

Arthur turned his head to glance at the person next to him, feeling very awkward.

"N-nothing," he replied quietly. "Don't worry about me."

The man next to him snorted and began to laugh.

"Oh, please! I can tell by the look on your face that you got problems! What is it, a girl? Family issues?"

A muscle twitched in Arthur's cheek as he hurriedly zipped his fly and started backing up towards the sinks.

"A-ah. Not quite? Adam, perhaps we could discuss this when we're out of the bloody _restroom-_ "

Adam hummed in reply, beginning to finish up as well. Arthur turned on the tap, shuddering a bit as frigid water poured across his palm.

"Sure, we've got lunch break to work this out." The man's gaze suddenly darkened and Arthur had to avert his gaze from the mirror to avoid staring into his coworker's death glare.

"We've got lunch break to work this out, _freak_."

Mouth dry, Arthur could only cower in fear as his co-worker gave him a rough punch on the shoulder and proceeded to exit the restroom altogether. Arthur slowly turned off the tap, not really caring that his hands were still covered with soap suds and leaned against the cool wall, shivering. He wanted to go home and just relax with nothing more than a good book and a cup of hot tea and maybe listen to-

 _Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Arthur gave a strangled yelp of terror as he nearly fell down against the sinks completely, his knees giving way as his dreaded cell phone buzzed ominously against his leg. He snatched the phone from his pocket and stared at the number flashing blue on the screen with wide eyes.

 _Beep._

"Now you listen here!" Arthur said loudly, determined not to let the other end speak until he was done. "I-I don't know what you all are trying to pull here, but whatever it is, I don't want to become a part of it! You should know better than to pull my leg or-!"

Arthur paused, his tongue thick and hands beginning to sweat, mind racing to come up with some kind of plausible threat.

"-Or I'll sic Scotland Yard on you and your accomplices!"

The Brit went silent, breath coming in little shallow pants, listening for any kind of reaction from the other side. There was nothing, not a word, not a sound, no longer any playful comments or shouts as he had heard during the first call. But there was something strange about the silence, something ominous and just _wrong._ Like the calm before a storm. Arthur swallowed hard.

"Well…good day to you all!"

Arthur pressed the button to end the call. For a while, there was nothing but the sound of his breathing and the dripping of leaking pipes and the faint chatter of businessmen outside. Suddenly, the door to the men's restrooms swung open with a shriek of rusted hinges and three men stepped inside, laughing.

"-told you that guy was a wimp! Probably ran off back to his house already, kesesese!"

One of the men in particular caught Arthur's eye. He was pale, too pale, and messy mop of bright silver hair that hung right above ruby red eyes gave him the spotlight of the three. The Brit's eyebrows raised but he dared not speak as he straightened up and began to adjust his tie in the mirror.

"Uh, Antonio. Doesn't 'e look familiar, hm?"

Another of the men had stopped and was staring directly at Arthur, his long, golden locks curling around his exposed collarbones. He was certainly sporting some exotic fashion sense, and coupled with his heavy accent, it was obvious the man was French. Arthur kept his gaze on the trio, though his hands behind his back had already begun to paw at the door handle. He had had _enough_ of the bloody restroom.

"Oh, my. Seems mon ami is in a hurry, non?" the Frenchman crooned, motioning the two behind him to fan out. The albino gave a mischievous grin, and for the first time, Arthur noticed the tiny yellow chick nestled snugly in his shirt pocket. It cheeped and nuzzled itself into the depths of the fabric.

"F-French twat!" Arthur spat, pushing against the bathroom door. The hinges groaned under the pressure, but would not relent. The Brit panicked slightly, abandoning all protocol of being a proper gentleman and beginning to direct his fear into kicking the door with all his might.

The Frenchman sniffed in distaste. "Honestly, Angleterre, I thought you'd be better be'aved than _that_. Antonio, go get 'im."

The third man with dark brown curls and set emerald eyes stepped forward, a determined, yet somehow grim smile set on his features. "Gilbert, cover me," he ordered. Arthur blinked. The man was clearly from a country that spoke Spanish. Mexico, or Spain, or something.

"Why the bloody hell are you all here?" Arthur demanded, shoving against the door once again. There was a screech of metal being ground upon, and the door managed to crack open a mere inch or two. Arthur whirled around to face his assaulters. "You're all obviously from elsewhere other than England. What do you want with me?"

Gilbert gave an evil grin. "Kesesesese! Blame Alfred for wanting you loser back at our office!" he shouted. "And Bruder wanted Feli to come but I said no because he is not awesome and I am awesome and we are totally going to kick your ass!"

The Frenchman turned towards Gilbert with a bewildered look for a brief moment. That brief moment was more than enough for Arthur to take action. In one swift motion, the Brit threw his entire body weight at the restroom door, causing it to scream on its hinges and swing open. He ran, ducking by printers, desks, and confused coworkers. From behind him, there was a yell of, "Toni, get him!"

At once, several people turned to face Arthur barreling through the office with a trio of men close at his heels and immediately joined the action, assuming that Arthur had done _something_ wrong to upset them so.

"Let me _through!_ " Arthur screamed as he wrestled away from coworkers who were beginning to surround him and grasp onto the edges of his shirt and at his collar, angrily shouting and blocking his path. "Let me _through,_ you all don't _understand what is going on right now!"_

His screams were to no avail.

"Angleterre!"

 _"Stay away from me!"_ Arthur shrieked as he yanked away from somebody so hard his suit tore. There were just too many people, and Arthur was so overwhelmed by them clutching onto every bit of him that he didn't see the fist until it was too late.

 _WHAM!_

The Brit cried out in pain as a large and painfully hard fist collided into his face, landing a square blow to his nose. Arthur collapsed to the floor as many of the ladies let out horrified gasps and turned away. Almost instantly, the blood began to flow from both nostrils, leaving a bright red trail down his chin and onto his shirt, now stained with printer ink and dust and wrinkled by hands tugging at the cloth. Everything seemed to fade, to become covered in a haze, his sight slowing and blurring, sound becoming none more than a dull ringing in his ears.

It was then through his haze that he saw the man with the Spanish accent lean over him, green eyes full of concern.

 _'Funny,'_ Arthur thought fuzzily, _'I thought I was the only one with eyes that green.'_

Beside him was the Frenchman, in a heated argument with a large, beefy man. There was blood on his fist.

"Angleterre did nothing wrong!" the Frenchman was yelling. "Sure, we needed to stop 'im, but breaking 'is nose is completely unnecessary!"

Dustin (Arthur now recognized the big man) was scrubbing the specks of blood off with disgust written all over his face. "Doesn't matter," he said loftily, kicking Arthur's limp body in the ribs. "Was a freak anyways."

It was lucky then that Gilbert threw his arms around the Frenchman's shoulders because the next moment he was spitting out what could have only been curses of all sorts in fluent French and struggling against Gilbert's steel grip.

"You're…Toni," Arthur croaked. His entire nose, bridge and all, felt numb. The man who was hovering above him lit up in a smile.

"Sí, sí, my name is Toni," he said softly. "But my real name is Antonio."

Arthur raised his arm to wipe the blood that had been collecting on his upper lip.

"-most misbehaved office if I've ever seen one!" the Frenchman was still raging in Gilbert's arms. Toni leaned down next to Arthur and dug his arms under the Brit's neck and knees.

"Hold on," he whispered. Then Arthur was being hoisted up, bridal style, past the Frenchman and Gilbert and out Madison Press's doors. There was a cab waiting at the curb outside, and Arthur would only remember being slightly embarrassed at the sight of being carried. He wanted to tell Antonio that he was a grown-ass man and could very well walk on his own, but ended up only making some weak attempt at a groan. And now that the adrenaline had died down, Arthur noticed with some degree of dismay that the pain was beginning to set in. His nose was beginning to throb horrifically, and the Brit noticed he had lost the ability to breathe through it too.

"Bloody hell," the cabbie said as he twisted around in his seat. "What happened to him?"

"Misunderstanding," Antonio said shortly. "Got into a fistfight over practically nothing."

The cabbie opened his mouth, inhaled, turned back around, exhaled, and turned back again, mouth open.

"D'you want me to call an ambulance?" he asked, eyebrows knitted together. "He looks pretty bad off…"

Antonio shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "My friends and I have some stuff for that."

The cabbie, still looking skeptical, turned back around without a word and stared out the driver's window at the traffic outside. A few minutes later, Gilbert stepped outside, dragging the protesting Frenchman with him into the cab. Gilbert stuffed him into the back row with Arthur and Antonio and got into the front seat. The Frenchman was still babbling nonstop in French.

"Francis, get a _hold_ of yourself!" Antonio scolded. "I don't speak French, you nit!"

Francis seemed to calm down a little at this and turned to face Arthur, who was now conscious and pressing a handkerchief that was already beginning to soak with blood to his broken nose.

"Drive," Gilbert said forcefully. "I'll tell you when you get there."

* * *

 **Bloopers:**

 **England:** Why am _I_ the one with a broken nose?

 **Me:** *nervous laugh* Th-theatrical mishap?

 **Prussia:** I just made an appearance, Ludwig, and you haven't which makes me awesome and you totally lame and _I am still awesoooome!_

 **France:** *totally annoyed* Author, at least you could 'ave made me _less_ of a fool?

 **Me:** *groans and head-desks a pile of scripts* _Everybody_ is a dang critic-

 **Japan:** A-ah, well, I'm sure Author-san meant no harm. After all, she is the writer. *turns to look at me with alarm* Or is it a…he?

 **Me:** AIGHT! SHOOT'S OVER. EVERYBODY OUT! *turns off camera*


End file.
